


Dream (A Little Dream of Me)

by VeryImpressive



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bruce and Dick are the same age, Businessman!Bruce, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Male Character, Lemonish, M/M, Non-BatmanAU, Non-Explicit Sex, Young Bruce Wayne, stripper!dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-04-27 17:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImpressive/pseuds/VeryImpressive
Summary: Even clad in the delicious combination of blue and black lace, he could see it.By it – he meant the perfectly sized mole that rested on the fleshy peak of the dancer’s right ass cheek.It was the most perfect ass he’d ever seen.Goddamn.[Two-Shot] [Stripper-Businessman!AU]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things of note: 
> 
> I'd been floating around with this idea for quite some time. I was stricken with this vision of a sort of smokey-jazz club headcanon. What happened was well... this. I wouldn't call Dick a hooker, and though it's sort of loosely implied, I'm still not comfortable assigning that tag, so he isn't a hooker. The lack of dialogue in the first installment is purposeful on my part. It was an attempt to convey that headcanon that I originally set out to satisfy. And I've deaged Bruce to fit my own purposes, nearly everything is canon, save for that, and the save for the fact neither Bruce or Dick spend their nights dressing up in tights and beating up scumbags, and they (obviously) don't know each other. 
> 
> This is ultimately going to be a two-shot, with the second half being far longer. And I might visit it again as a full story later on, and if there seems to be appropriate interest! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

He was Bruce Wayne.

There was very little in the realm of the tangible and the mundane that was out of his reach. Since the moment that he had entered the world, he’d been surrounded by the best of the best, the most beautiful and the most opulent. Neither the cost, nor the practicality was too much for him, he was a _Wayne_ , nothing was beyond him, nothing at all.

It was both the curse and the blessing of an eleven-digit fortune, and that, coupled with his parents being taken away from him at eight years old, had served to ferment strong issues with entitlement. Throughout his life, he’d always had trouble differentiating between those that wanted to know him on a personal level, and the people that wanted to make a connection with him because of his money and name.

So, he’d solved that issue by taking them all, and trapping them in his orbit.

His eyes drifted up to the stage.

Even clad in the delicious combination of blue and black lace, he could see it.

By _it_ – he meant the perfectly sized mole that rested on the fleshy peak of the dancer’s right ass cheek. 

It was the most _perfect_ ass he’d ever seen.

 _Goddamn_.

The mole was mouthwatering, it was the proverbial cherry on top.

He was more than aware of the fact that his ideas of luxury were not even remotely like the ideas that the common person shared. There was _something_ about that ass though, that ass and that mole, that rendered all of his ideas inconsequential.

That mole, that ass, _that_ dancer, Bruce felt an utterly magnetic pull.

There was a school of thought that suggested that if a person was beautiful enough, they could conquer the world. Bruce had never really believed it, he had never really believed that there was a single person in the world that could influence him like that. That was until he had laid his eyes on that dancer, and on that dancer’s behind.

Bruce could foresee himself laying down his family’s entire fortune to be have that ass in his lap. He could flash on an image of himself in a VIP room, champagne flowing, with the dancer firmly affixed in his lap, with that ass in the palm of his hand.

_Robin._

His stage name, he was sure – _Robin_.

Bruce set his cigar down in the ashtray on the table and looked _closer_.

Gawked really.

His backside was glorious, but Bruce found that his front was breathtaking. Lean and toned from his neck to his waist, his body was the picture of fitness, muscled, but not overly so. Bruce reckoned that he was a professional dancer, or a gymnast during the day.

That only added to the appeal that the dancer oozed all over the stage, his confidence was refreshing.

That smile that he wore, the twinkle in his eye.

Bruce knew that the other men in the club were enraptured, under the same trance that he was. He also knew that the dancer, _Robin_ , was aware of it. He seemed to know that he was weaving an utterly irresistible font of seduction over them all.

So often he found that dancers that came to work for the club were either so desperate to survive that they were willing to adopt a disingenuous mask, or that they were so dead behind the eyes that their lives had rid them of any sort of spark of thought.

This one had no tell that would allow Bruce to make that assumption. This one knew that he was a knock out, and he seemed to be enjoying every single moment of it. There could be mistaking the pure enjoyment that shone through in his shock blue eyes. It was yet another box that he had to tick off, another thing to strengthen that intense pull.

As a matter of a technicality, he owned the place.

It wasn’t something that he advertised, per say, but it wasn’t something that he would deny if it came up. He retained ownership through a tangled web of subsidiaries, and he allowed the idea that those who ran the club on a daily basis, in fact, owned it.

He was Bruce Wayne.

As a matter of course, he couldn’t afford to be indulging in the seeder side of Gotham City’s recreation for the ultra-rich and powerful. In the days of his forebears, the idea was ludicrous, they’d gathered their immense fortune through purely legitimate means. While Bruce understood that the image was nothing but an image, it was something that those that came before him had gone out of their way to vigorously maintain.

When he reflected on the club itself, he liked to think of it as more of a side project than anything else. It was frequented by those that had both the time, and the money, to spend on the very best of the best. The gender never mattered, and while the age did, the only other qualification was that they had to be beautiful, the _most_ beautiful.  

The patrons were, incidentally, the same people that his parents would’ve entertained at the manor when they used to stage those elaborate fundraising galas.

The information that the dancers gathered wouldn’t be used unless it was necessary. It was prudent to have it there though, and the dancers would be richly compensated for the value of the information that they gathered, a useful side project.

Bruce had to suppress the urge to reach out and just _take_.

He couldn’t merely force the idea on Robin, Robin had to come to him.

If he wanted to.

He certainly had the bankbook, he had his looks, and that certainly gave him a mile over everyone else in the club.

And he was Bruce Wayne.

That still mattered to most people, even when they didn’t want it to matter to them. His family’s name touched an aspect of nearly every member of civilized society’s life. Whether he was aware of it, he played a big part in Robin’s life too – until he made it a point to investigate his background some more, he’d assume that it was the biggest.

Bruce reached forward to retrieve his cigar, momentarily, almost painfully forcing his gaze off the stage. Gripping it, he shut his eyes to take a drag, and when he opened them back up, he was met by a sight that rendered him momentarily speechless. He’d found that there was very little left in the world with the power to rob him of his senses.

Robin was _there_.

Right in front him.

Backlit from a series of three spotlights, one from the back, left and right, he looked positively ethereal. He’d been rather skeptical about coming to the club that afternoon. It was the only thing that he thought of that could clear his mind after the day that he had experienced. Now that he was here, now that he had his sights on Robin, he’d realized that all of it was worth it, all of the irritation had been for a purpose.

As Robin swayed down the set of stairs at the foot of the stage, Bruce had one thought, he had one care in the world, it all came down to that magnificent dancer.

Robin was the quintessence of seduction.

The dancer strode forward, slowly but surely, as if momentarily struggling under the weight of all of the eyes in the room on him. Bruce took note of his breathing, of his eyes, of the position of his hands relative to his body. Bruce got the feel that he was in his element, that he was the center of the storm, and that he was at perfect ease in the center of it all.

He stalked forward.

Without missing a beat, Robin slid into the booth, and without seeming to expend an even iota of energy, slid himself over Bruce’s lap. The two were slotted together perfectly, and Bruce found his hands coming up to wrap themselves firmly at Robin’s hips.

Bruce watched, stunned, as the dancer pulled the cigar out of his lips and brought it up to his own. His eyes drifted down to his chest as the dancer took in a drag, watching the sinewy ripples contract, and they drifted upwards, just in time to watch him throw his head back and exhale. He was crowned in light and cigar smoke, and when he looked back down, the smoldering look in his eye was like a stab to the gut.

It was the sexiest thing that Bruce Wayne had ever seen in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

In all honesty, he _fell_ into the life.

It came by him honestly, he went into it with every good intention in mind – and intended on being out of it as soon as he could manage. That was the mindset that he had when he answered the advertisement, and even when he went to the audition, and had to endure the lewd comments about his perky backside, it was still a short-term thing.

Dick Grayson didn’t do this sort of thing – he was a good boy, he always had been a good boy. He helped his mother do the laundry, he respected his elders, he said please and thank you.

It didn’t occur to him until much later that he was a stripper, that he exposed his body to lecherous men and women for obscene amounts of money. They might not have called him a stripper, but he suspected that if his earning potential, or worse yet, the venue, was lowbrow, it would've been something he would've had to have dealt with every day.

He still wasn't sure how he would deal with that.

When people asked him what he did, he liked to dress it up in more respectable clothing – but somehow calling himself a dancer didn’t erase the fact that he was a stripper, even to himself.

The money made up for it though.

Dick was still shocked that they put him on Friday evenings for his first shift. The other dancers, they’d told him how lucky he was, how it was almost unheard of for a new dancer to get put on the night of nights for a first set.

Fridays, they were reserved for the most exclusive patrons of the club. He was sure that it was unofficial club policy that to even be admitted into the club on Fridays, the prospective member had to have at least one ten-digit bank account in their possession. In his time, Dick had seen men from all walks of life come through the door. When he was hired, he was forced to sign an iron-clad agreement – but Dick was sure that if that wasn’t the case, he could write a best seller of stories of the well-known patrons he’d seen, alone.

Actors, singers, directors, corporate titans, masters of the universe, Dick had seen them all – he’d taken off his clothes for a lot of them.

Even if it all fell through, at the end of his life, Dick could say that he’d received a gilded vibrator from a sitting member of the United States Senate.

After that first dance, he’d walked out with enough tips to pay off most of his outstanding bills.

Even the shame could not stand in the way of the relief that he felt over the fact that he would not have to spend the better part of his days digging himself out of avalanche of default notices. The money that he made at night, and the fact that he was able to put himself through school and live in relative comfort, all for shaking his ass – he grew to embrace his profession with a certain degree of pride.

But _this_ was something new.

Dick liked new things, he was always open to trying something once, and he was always willing to learn.

Other members, they were patrons – they weren’t larger than life figures. Most of them understood the rules, most of them understood that when they walked through those doors, it was his job to sell a fantasy to them. The ones that didn’t get that were promptly ejected, but most played nice. He could even handle the handsy men, so long as it never progressed to anything beyond that.

He could handle the gifts, he could handle the looks – he received something for it, and it was enough for him to even get a certain amount of enjoyment out of it. If he never became an item to be possessed, he could handle _posing_ as one for a few hours.

“What’s a pretty bird like you doing in a place like this?” Bruce Wayne’s voice was nothing like he imagined it.

Deep, it sounded like it came from the depths – like it wanted nothing more than to reach out, grab him, and take him down.

It took all his strength to keep his nonplussed façade in place, because beneath it, beneath the veneer that he had developed to deal with patrons – he was _fearful_.

Dick was beside himself in fear because he did not know how to handle the fact that there was something in Bruce Wayne’s eyes that looked like it wanted to _possess_ him.

Here he was, sitting in the lap of one of the richest and most powerful men in history – and Dick wanted something from him that he never wanted before: to be owned.

There was something inside of him that he kept locked down – a needy, poverty-stricken circus boy.

Dick didn’t want to dwell on it much, because on the surface, he had everything that he needed in his life. His parents might not have been able to spoil him, but they loved him, _unconditionally_ , and made him feel as though he could conquer the world. It didn’t matter that there was a time in his life where his shoes were held together with duct tape, or when he only ate because of the kindness of strangers. He wanted to keep the part of him that craved to be spoiled, pampered and worshiped, hidden. Dick felt as though if he ever let that person out, it would be an affront to almost everything that his loving parents had ever done for him.

But when Bruce Wayne wrapped his big arm around his waist and pulled him closer – he felt himself _preen_ , and practically purr under the attention that he was getting.

“Gotta’ make a living somehow,” Dick answered, accepting the drink that Bruce offered him with his other hand.

The acrid burn of the bourbon almost felt like a relief as he it went down his throat.

When he first started work, he was quickly made aware of the fact Bruce Wayne owned the place, though he was told that the odds of them running across each other were nearly impossible.

“You know,” Dick could feel the rumble in Bruce’s chest as he spoke. “I heard about you, though the stories don’t do you justice – Senator Mayes sends his regards.”

In spite himself, Dick felt his face flush at the memory of the Senator – or more specifically, the gift that the man had given him.

He was not at all ashamed of the fact that he had used it, on _several_ occasions – not picturing the Senator, like the Senator had probably hoped, but Dick wondered if the thought was good enough.

He kept it in an old shoe-box underneath his bed, but he still kept the expensive vibrator, and marveled at the taste of oh so _family-oriented_ politician who gave it to him.

“I’m sure Mrs. Mayes is pleased that he doesn’t come here anymore?” Dick mused quietly.

“Oh, _immensely_ so, as are his two teenagers, because I think you’re the one man that could ever tempt him enough to drop the insufferable family values persona,” The man underneath him chuckled – and Dick felt a shiver run down his spine at the feel of it coming from the broad chest under his fingertips. “Though I _suppose_ thinking that you’re going to become the next President of the United States is enough to fend off the temptation – even from someone as beautiful as you.”

Later, he was sure that he would laugh himself silly that the future President of the United States, a very _conservative_ future President of the United States, had bought him a gold, remote controlled dildo that he’d used to fuck himself silly.

That being said, the mention of his close encounter with the Senator rapidly brought him back to the _reality_ of the situation. He knew things, he knew things about a man that didn’t want the truth of himself to be known – he knew things about a man that had a very real chance of becoming the most powerful man on the entire planet.

Dick was in a position to be in real, _substantial_ danger if the situation called for it, if he’d been in the position of Senator Mayes it was what he would’ve done to someone like Dick.

“So, you think he’ll win?” He asked quietly, fingering the crystal tumbler, before taking another sip.

“Well, no – _not now_ , not anymore,” A smile spread over the other man’s face. “You see, Senator Mayes was holding up a lucrative contract in committee – one that would’ve given my company a substantial advantage in certain budding third-world markets. You – _sweetheart_ , you are the reason that the contract cleared committee this morning, and you are also the reason that Senator Mayes has elected to remain in the Senate, instead of forming an exploratory committee to seek the Presidency next year." 

That revelation didn’t make him feel any better, in fact – if Dick had been in the arms of anyone else, he might have felt even more frightened by the new information.

“Have I made a powerful enemy that I should be worried about?”

That smile seemed to grow. “Senator Mayes is not going to be an issue for you – but when my board informed me that the Senate gave the go-ahead for approval, I had to see _you_ with my own eyes.”

“And do I meet with your approval?”

Again, that goddamned preening that he tried his best to keep a stranglehold on.

He saw the man’s drift down his body, seemingly taking his time to trace over every sharply defined muscle. The look was so gentle, so teasing – and yet there was something _predatory_ about it, something that bordered on a possession Dick wanted experience. It wasn’t like it was a few months ago, he wasn’t in the position that he was when he first started to dance at the club. Dick was not hurting for money. In the short time he’d worked there, he’d managed to pay off all his bills – secured enough cash to pay for his degree, and build up enough savings to where he could presumably live comfortably for a number of years before he felt any pain.

He didn’t want Bruce Wayne to take him because of his countless riches, or his seemingly infinite power.

“The stories don’t do you any justice.”

It was that _voice_ of his, that _look_ in his eyes – that sharp, steely gaze around the edges of his eyes.

“With that in mind, Robin, I have a proposition for you.” He cocked his head – his hands still trailing the edges of his midsection.

Dick glowered at the man. “I’m not a prostitute, Mr. Wayne.”

He couldn’t quite recall how many times members had asked him that.

That was a line that he would not be willing to cross, he made more than enough to avoid the world’s oldest profession – he didn’t care how much money Bruce Wayne had.

“I never said you were one,” Bruce smiled. “Although, if you insist…”

Dick cast an unamused look at the man. “No.”

“Okay, fair enough,” He mused. “I would like to take you out to dinner.”

For a moment, he was utterly dumbstruck.

“Dinner?” Dick asked.

“ _Dinner_.” Bruce answered.

It was an odd request, to put it mildly.

He’d been propositioned enough in his line of work, some offers were far more tempting than others – but they were all chalked up to horny men who simply didn’t know any better.

They either had too much money than they knew what to do with, and thought that young men like him were willing to do anything they could to get their hands on it. 

 _Or_ they thought that it added to the appeal, he supposed.

“And, after this entirely platonic dinner?” Dick asked.

He supposed he was kidding himself if he thoroughly thought that he wasn’t going to let one of the richest men in the entire world take him out to dinner.

Bruce cocked his head. “I take you home.”

“And then?” Dick pressed.

“And then we go our separate ways, until we can go out again,” Bruce hummed. “I wouldn’t expect anything else, nice boys like you don’t kiss on the first date.”

He felt himself flush again.

And like so many times since he’d sauntered his way over onto Bruce Wayne’s lap – he was struck by the position that he was in.

There was that part of him that wanted to be kept – yes, but there was also a deep seeded insecurity in that person.

Dick simply wasn’t that special.

Yes, he knew he was good looking – he’d used it to his advantage throughout his entire adult life, so far.

He’d been told that he had a body that was _made_ to do this. He’d been told on his first day that he had a backside that most of their patrons would mortgage their vacation homes to get to touch, he was _used_ to that.

But whether it was his family’s act when he was a kid, or whether or not he did his regime of squats as an adult, it didn’t mean that he, _himself_ , was special.

Was _extraordinary_.

“I have to ask, why me?” Dick finished off the drink, and set it down.

His voice as quiet – as if the question itself was a secret.

In many respects, it shattered that persona that he worked hard to build.

“Because any man that could get Richard Mayes to do what he did is interesting,” Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “I like interesting things, you interest me.”

“I suppose that makes me special?” Dick was careful to sound bemused.

On the inside, his emotions were anything but.

“Very much so,” Bruce nodded – and then his lips twitched into something of a smile. “And although, I will admit that you have the nicest ass I have ever seen in my life, I would very much like to get to know you." 

Dick felt his stomach twist.

“You know you’re my boss, right?” Dick asked.

“Technically, yes.”

His brow rose. “And this could be perceived as inappropriate?”

He felt the hands on his waist tighten. “I’m keeping my hands above your waist.”

Dick's lips twitched, and for a moment, he chewed the idea over again. 

"As long as you keep it that way, Mr. Wayne," He found himself purring. "Until I tell you otherwise." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so -- I swerved and got a little plotty, even I'm admitting that I don't know exactly where I was heading with it -- I just kind of vomited on the document.
> 
> I sort of, kind of, liked it. 
> 
> I hope you did too!


End file.
